New Commitments?
by jaijainagra
Summary: Mycroft has a life-changing offer for John, one that Sherlock finds hard to accept. Pre-slash. Depictions of torture and violence in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_I got this story in my head shortly after beginning my first story, and couldn't get it out of my head. The plot-line just kind of grew in my head, so now... here it is._ _Hope you enjoy._

It had been a most satisfactory day for Sherlock. A case solved, the mother-in-law and son of a murdered man arrested based on his conclusions, and, to crown it all, solving the case right in front of the insufferable Anderson. Two days with barely any sleep or food was worth it to see Anderson look like he had just swallowed something very sour and spiky.

There was perhaps one drawback of the day. John had not been there. He had had his job to do, and whilst Sherlock would have liked to have him there, he supposed it was too much to expect that of him.

Still... it felt a little strange not having John with him on a case. He had become so used to his presence that it felt as though part of him was missing. Having reliable, steadfast John there, he who always seemed prepared for the situation, who was unswervingly loyal... who had done many things for him... felt like an anchor in the sea.

It felt so strange to think that way. For years of his life, he had relied on no-one, trusted no-one to get close enough to see beyond the cold exterior. It had been unsettling at first, realising that he was showing that side to John without even meaning to. That along with showing the human side of him, came emotions. Fears, insecurities... caring.

As he took a taxi back to Baker Street, he got his phone out to find a suitable restaurant. He noticed that he had three missed calls from his brother. Impatiently, he hid the alert for that. He really did not have time for his brother right now.

He chose a few restaurants for them both to choose from, just in time for the taxi to pull up in front of 221b. He felt... happy. Nothing could dent that feeling today, not even-

"Good evening, brother dear."

Mycroft was sat in the armchair (_his_ armchair), looking perfectly calm and composed. John, on the couch, less so. In fact, he looked tense, nervous. He nonetheless gave Sherlock a faint smile when their eyes met.

"What are you doing here, Mycroft? I ignored your calls for a reason, can you not take a hint?"

"Oh no, i'm not here to bother you Sherlock. I came for a word with Doctor Watson here."

Sherlock hadn't expected that. He glanced at John, but the good doctor was keeping his eyes on Mycroft now, watching him carefully. Mycroft leant forwards in his seat.

"So, John, what will it be?"

John hesitated. His eyes flicked in Sherlock's direction, then back to Mycroft.

"I need more time to think about this."

"I'm afraid this offer won't be around for long-"

"This isn't a decision i'll be taking lightly, Mycroft, and i'm not being pushed into it. I'll contact you when i've decided."

Mycroft paused, but there seemed to be nothing further he could say. After a moment, he cleared his throat, got to his feet.

"Very well. You have my number, of course. Good evening Doctor Watson. Sherlock."

And with that, Mycroft moved past Sherlock and down the stairs. They heard the sound of the front door opening and closing.

There was a couple of seconds pause.

"That was intriguing. What exactly did he want, John?"

Sherlock was genuinely intrigued, and a little worried. John seemed... troubled.

"He... had an offer for me." John's voice was quiet, cautious.

"I gathered that. What offer?" He was keeping his voice, his reactions calm and collected as ever, but beneath he was trying to think. What could Mycroft want from _John_? He normally only made offers to important people, and John wasn't important. Well, not important as Mycroft categorised it.

John hesitated, but seemed to not want to answer. He got to his feet.

"Christ, I didn't know how late it was. Um... tea? How did that case go?"

"John..."

John had moved into the kitchen, was pouring water into the kettle. Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder and felt him stiffen slightly. He removed it.

"John, my brother only makes offers if there's something in it for him or his career, and that is never a wise course of action. What is going on?"

Again, John hesitated. Then he put the kettle down, and turned to face Sherlock. He seemed to be steeling himself.

"Mycroft came with a... job offer. The army want to recruit me back."

_Part 2 coming shortly! Subscribe, review, feedback is very welcome!_


	2. Chapter 2

Oh God... he'd said it. John had said the words out loud and somehow they just sounded even more ridiculous. He registered maybe the tiniest flicker of shock on Sherlock's face, but then it was gone. Why did he have to be so hard to read at the worst times?

From the moment Mycroft had come out with those words, there had been two thoughts in John's mind. Disbelief gradually changing to a sort of relief, along with a question: What on earth is Sherlock going to say?

It mattered to him what Sherlock thought about him and others. Sometimes that was a bad thing – Sherlock's versions of morality and views on the world were sometimes so frustrating – but still, there it was. As much as he was dooming himself by admitting it, John cared about this eccentric and brilliant man. Not just what he thought... but about him generally.

There was a few moments pause. Sherlock took a step away from him.

"They want you back. On the front line or...?"

"No, no. Teaching, teaching new cadets."

"I was about to say, you're hardly fit to serve on the front lines, are you?"

This bald statement caused a look of mixed shock and hurt on John's face, one that Sherlock didn't catch as he had turned away. Mainly so he wouldn't see that. He knew that had been a low blow, but he already knew what could be coming, and didn't know what to say to keep it from being so.

"Even if that's the case, I would be helping those that are fit to serve."

"And where would you be doing this, exactly?"

"Well... Mycroft showed me a letter from my former Commanding Officer, Major Conrad. It offered me the position, at a training barracks in... Edinburgh."

With his back to John, Sherlock closed his eyes. Edinburgh. Not as far as Afghanistan, but it was far enough. Even just down the street would have been far enough. John would not be working with him anymore. That tie was severed, and to Sherlock, it felt like all the ties of their friendship would unravel as a result. He heard John move closer to him and somehow, didn't want that.

"It's not forever, I know that. But... it's twice the pay I get currently, and... well, it would feel like i'm giving something back."

"Oh, I highly doubt that's all the reason." The tone of Sherlock's voice made John stop, tense. It was... cold.

"What do you mean by that?"

Sherlock turned to face him, and somehow there was something that unnerved John as their eyes met.

"Well, it can't be fun always being in my shadow, can it? Following behind me like a little _pet_." He used the word deliberately, and saw the twitch of reaction. John hated being referred to in that way, had hated Moriarty's use of it. "Constantly being outshone, outclassed. You want to be the one in the limelight for once, is that it?"

This accusation was so unfair that John couldn't find the words to answer for a moment. Alongside the anger was... he wasn't sure what this was for a moment. It was hurt... fear... he didn't want to be talked to this way, not by Sherlock, not by the man he...

"I have never thought that way Sherlock. I know you're better then me with the investigating and i've accepted that. But i've helped, you can't deny that."

"Oh, so I am to be grateful for the occasional bit of gun work and a loyal companion? I could do this without you."

"Then why have me around?" John's voice had raised now.

"Ugh... search me!"

Sherlock had thrown his arms up in apparent anger. He walked away, sat down before his laptop, booted it up. Any excuse not to look at John, not to betray his thoughts. Then, John's voice broke the silence. There was a tremble in there.

"You're making this decision a lot easier for me Sherlock, thank you. I'll ring Mycroft. Excuse me."

And before Sherlock could respond, John had left the room and closed the door. Effectively ending the discussion.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Mycroft was delighted by John's acceptance, and told him that a seat on a train to Edinburgh would be booked for a few days time. Rather then stay in the flat, John spent his last few days in London with Sarah.

The morning of his departure, he came back to collect his things. Sherlock was at his laptop again, and didn't raise his eyes from the screen for the half hour it took John to pack. Finally, on the threshold, John glanced back.

"Well... this is it then."

"It seems so."

"... Bye."

"Goodbye."

John waited another second, but when it was apparent that Sherlock was not going to say anything else, he shrugged and walked away. Sherlock heard him say goodbye to Mrs Hudson... the door open and close... and the sound of his taxi pulling away. He sat there for a long time, staring at nothing in particular.

In the taxi, John impatiently brushed away moisture from his eyes. What use was there in getting emotional? If Sherlock didn't care... then John wouldn't either. New commitments, new beginnings.

… If only his heart would listen to his head and stop hurting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the alerts and reviews guys, it means a lot when a story is liked. This will probably end up being around 9 or 10 chapters, if I stick to the story outline i've got.**

_3 months later_

Mrs Hudson was watching her tenant out of the corner of her eye as she busied herself in the kitchen. He was laid on the couch, thinking he said, which wasn't unusual for Sherlock. What was unusual was the fact that he had barely moved from that spot for the past few days, and that he was still in his pyjamas.

At first, after John had left, things had been relatively normal. Sherlock had gone on with his life. Solved cases, got into dangers, generally lived life to the optimum. He had been determined to pretend as though nothing had changed. But gradually, the spark and vivacity had dimmed. He had taken on less cases, gone out less. He wasn't even back to how he had been before John had arrived. Sometimes he seemed bitterly depressed, other times aggressive and quick to snap.

Despite herself, Mrs Hudson worried about him. He seemed to take extremes so often, almost to punish himself, and she disliked seeing him depressed. She also missed John Watson greatly. He had been a lovely young man, and had brought out the best in Sherlock. She could tell that Sherlock missed him too, however much he tried to claim the contrary.

She heard the sound of a knock on the front door downstairs, and hastily went down to answer it.

"Oh, Mr Lestrade."

"Hello again Mrs Hudson. I need a quick word with Sherlock."

"I don't know if he'd really want to see you, Inspector. He's just not his usual self lately."

Lestrade sighed "Well, he'd better start being his usual self, this is rather important."

He took the stairs two at a time and entered the flat. Sherlock barely looked round as he came in, but knew who it was.

"What do you want, Inspector? I'm not interested in cases right now."

"You will be in this one." Sherlock glanced 'round, frowning, and Lestrade clarified. "It involves you and Doctor Watson."

Sherlock's face clouded over.

"Doctor Watson is gone Inspector, as you know."

"This still involves him. We received this today, addressed to you. Another one was addressed to me, i'm wondering how similar the two are."

He was holding out an envelope to Sherlock, who sat up and took it, curious. The address was written, but in capitals. No clues there then. He opened it carefully, and took out a piece of paper inside.

_Hello Sexy!_

_You haven't had your phone on, Sherlock. Naughty boy, how else am I supposed to contact you effectively? Oh well, I suppose threats via letter will do._

_I've heard that your little lapdog has disappeared back to his training school. How sad, I know you're fond of him, and he did seem SO loyal._

_You really should keep your pets closer to you, Sherlock, and not let them run off. You wouldn't want Doctor Watson to be petnapped, now would you?_

_Try keeping the phone with you sexy, you'll see why. Talk again soon._

_M x_

Sherlock had read through the letter three times in quick succession. His heart was pumping faster in his chest. John... he was threatening John directly this time, no hint of other people involved. Why?

"Thank you, Inspector. I'll get this dealt with."

"Sherlock..." Lestrade hesitated. "Whatever happened between you two, this is serious. My letter makes direct threats to hurt you and John. I really think you should contact him."

"Not directly, no, but trust me when I say someone will contact him."

"Alright. I'll leave you to it."

Sherlock waited until Lestrade was out of the door before jumping up. The first thing he did was find the pink phone and set it to charge, then turn it on. Then he found his own phone and speed-dialled a number.

"Mycroft. I need a favour."

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

It had taken time to readjust back to army life, just as it had taken time to adjust to civilian life after his injury. John had thrown himself back into the fitness regime, the restrictions, the way of life, and somehow revelled in it.

He had stopped his blog. There wasn't much point anymore, at least in his mind. What was he to say? _Dear blog, today I taught soldiers how to save lives and worked like a crazy person. And tried not to think about Sherlock._

New beginning, he had promised himself that night. He'd wanted to bury the past, focus on the future. Not just Sherlock and Baker Street. He'd had to finish things with Sarah, which hadn't been pleasant, though she had understood, offered her support if he ever needed it. It was always Sherlock, however, that cropped up in his thoughts unbidden. When this occurred, he would inevitably go and find something, anything to do.

It was stupid, so _stupid_ to be pining like a child. But now and then, that was what he realised he was doing. Wanting to be back there, for Sherlock to take back what he had said, for everything to be back the way it had been. No, not everything. He wanted to say what he had been too nervous of saying.

A knock at the door of his office in the barracks made him look up, startled. He'd been lost in thought, hadn't even started the journal he'd planned on reading. He shook himself slightly. _Snap out of it John..._

"Come in."

The door opened and one his fellow medical teachers, Lieutenant Billy Harkin, entered. They got on well, and Billy was easy-going, cheerful whilst not in 'Lieutenant training hapless recruits' mode. He seemed somewhat solemn right now though.

"Mind if I have a word with you, Watson?"

"No, I was just finishing for the evening."

Harkin took a seat; He seemed hesitant, unsure how to start. John waited.

"John... i'm not one to pry. Christ, every soldier has something bothering them, especially ones that have already done tours overseas. But a few of the officers have noticed that you're training yourself into the ground, and working incredibly hard."

John raised an eyebrow at that.

"That's a bad thing?"

"Well, yes, if it's telling on your health."

"Nothing's telling on my health, i'm-"

"Don't say you're fine. Your face is pale, you've got dark circles under your eyes and sometimes you look..." Harkin hesitated, looking for the right word. "well, haunted."

So it was noticeable then. John had hoped that he would merely look driven, that his emotional problems wouldn't show though. Some hope... He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I appreciate the concern, but I honestly am fine. I've just... I was away from the army for so long, i'd forgotten what it was like. It's hard to adjust back."

"Have you thought about-"

"Going to see the counsellor?" Harkin nodded, and John gave a bark of laughter, shook his head. "I don't need that. I just need to get my head back in the right place."

"Alright... well, if you ever feel like shooting the breeze and getting rid of a chip on your shoulder... I like to think i'm a decent listener."

"Thanks, Billy."

"Night."

"Night."

He was just turning back to the journal when Harkin gave a little yelp.

"Shit, almost forgot. There was a request sent through for an urgent meeting with you today by a Mr Holmes?"

John's heart was suddenly beating at twice it's usual rate.

"Sherlock Holmes?"

"No... Mycroft, I think it was. Strange name, ain't it? Either way, he's going to be here at 3pm tomorrow and he asked that you be notified straight away. You alright?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Thanks, i'll be sure to meet him."

Now John was decidedly confused. What was happening?

That night, in his dreams, images of Sherlock, of himself and Sherlock together invaded. The thoughts he tried to repress in the day seemed to seep into his nights instead. In London, Sherlock was having similar dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mycroft was true to his word. John had got to the room they would meet in a few minutes before 3, and Mycroft entered the room at precisely 3.

"Doctor Watson. It's been a while."

"It has, but could we skip the pleasantries? What do you want?"

John thought he caught a mild look of annoyance on Mycroft's face, and felt a little moment of satisfaction that the he wasn't just doing as the 'minor government official' wanted. Mycroft leant forwards, putting his arms onto the desk.

"I've been sent here on behalf of a... concerned party."

"Sherlock."

"I'm not going to confirm or deny that. What matters is that we've had some news you need to hear, and I wanted to do it in person rather then just send you an information leaflet."

John frowned slightly.

"What about?"

"You remember Inspector Lestrade, the police officer you worked with a few times? He received a letter two days ago, making threats against yourself, and my brother. The letter was signed with the initial M."

"Moriarty."

"That seems the most logical conclusion. As a result, it has been decided that both yourself and Sherlock should be monitored far more carefully. That could include being taken to a safe house or-"

"Whoa, wait, no. That's not happening. I'm safe here, I don't need to leave for some safe house. I dare Sherlock would feel the same."

"He does, but in his case I am not asking, i'm telling. You, I really don't mind if you take the offer or no."

"Then why did you come here? It's not just out of the goodness of your heart."

Mycroft hesitated, realising he really had no choice but to confirm John's suspicion.

"Sherlock wished me to alert you to this as well. He called me, in fact, and insisted. He also received a letter, which contained more... intimate threats, and was concerned."

John closed his eyes for a moment. The fact that Sherlock had deliberately called his brother, a man he hated asking favours from, and insisted he come and warn John was both encouraging and very painful. He looked at Mycroft again.

"Why did he want me to know?"

Mycroft gave a laugh that was intended to be light, casual, but there was a note of discomfort there.

"John, I highly doubt that Sherlock would let his worst enemy be left unwarned about such threats."

"... he doesn't know, does he?"

"Excuse me?"

"He doesn't know. You didn't tell him the truth."

"I don't believe that's any of your concern."

"Like hell it isn't, this is my l- friend we're talking about! You're intentionally keeping the truth from your own brother."

"He doesn't need to know."

"Of course he does, he believes that I left out of some selfish whim to get back to my former life, we both know that's not true."

"Watch your tone, Doctor."

"You forced me into this and you know it! Pushed me into this 'for Sherlock's and your own good'."

Mycroft's chubby face was cold now, mask-like.

"I did what I did because it was the only way. My brother had become far too attached to you and far too driven for my liking. This needed to be done."

"This is over. You know where you can stick your offer."

John got to his feet and turned, walking towards the door. As he reached it, Mycroft's voice came to him.

"Leg hurting you again, is it?"

John's head turned.

"... what?"

"You're limping. Your psychosomatic limp is coming back now, hmm?"

"Shut up, Mycroft." John murmured. His hand was clenched on the door handle, his knuckles starting to whiten.

"I guess my brother's influence was all that was keeping you up. You'll be back to your army pension and miserable existence in a few months, if that."

"I said _shut up_!"

John yelled the last two words. Mycroft's eyes bulged at that. He obviously wasn't used to being spoken to this way.

"You're wrong about me, and you are so wrong for how you've treated Sherlock. So you know what? Screw your offer, and screw this. I'm going back to London, whether you like it or not."

John wrenched the door open and slammed it behind him, before taking a few deep, steadying breaths to calm down outside. He knew he shouldn't have shouted, but at the same time; it felt damn good.

/

Sherlock hadn't left the house at all today, not even for a case. The fridge was bare, the room darkened, yet he hadn't noticed. Mrs Hudson had finally had enough and had tried to get him moving again, but he hadn't even snapped at her, just come out with monosyllabic responses. If this kept going, she was going to call a doctor.

Sherlock heard the sound of the phone ringing, but didn't go to answer it. Mrs Hudson came upstairs and said something along the lines of 'i'm not your maid or housekeeper'. She picked up the phone.

"221 Baker Street... yes... oh, _John_!" The sound of the name made Sherlock's head whip round. "Oh dear, it's lovely to hear your voice, how _are _you? Yes? No, it's just myself and Sherlock still." Sherlock had sat up now, was watching intently. "Of course, when will you be back? Alright. Yes, see you then. Bye, dear."

She put the phone down, looking very happy.

"That was John?" Sherlock's voice was slightly croaky, he realised he hadn't spoken for most of the day.

"Yes. He's coming back to London next week, and asked if he could have his room, unless someone else had moved in. He said to tell you hello, and that you two would... oh, what was it... sort everything out when he gets back."

"Oh... that's... that's good then, very good."

"Isn't it? Would you like some tea dear? You're getting much too thin, you know how John would react to that."

"Yes, please."

Sherlock sat up properly, watched as Mrs Hudson moved into the kitchen to get some food... and tied to hide just how pleased and relieved he felt. John was coming back... _his_ John was coming back.

He wouldn't fully believe it until John was back here, in his old jumpers, typing up his blog and arguing against being given strange jobs to do. But... the mere thought was waking him back up.

Things were looking up.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Over the next week, Sherlock experienced a complexity of emotions and confusion he had rarely felt previously. Anxiety, excitement, anger, all rolling one over the other. It was unnerving, but... at the same time, he felt awakened. He was being 'human', properly so instead of pretending like he had on cases.

John had called twice more, once to say he really had handed in his resignation and the previous call hadn't been some reckless act (Sherlock had already known that; John wasn't the sort to pull such a stunt). The second had been to say he was getting a train to King's Cross station and would arrive back on the Sunday. That time, Sherlock had answered. They had spoken briefly. John had just been about to end the call when:

"John."

"Yeah?"

"What was said before... the night you left..."

Sherlock didn't finish the sentence, but John didn't need him to.

"It's alright. If I thought you really meant that, would I be coming back?"

"I suppose not... well, unless you're some sort of glutton for punishment."

"Sherlock, no offence, but I think that's already been proven by my living with you in the first place."

There was a dry chuckle from Sherlock at that. John had missed that.

"You didn't just leave because of the job, did you?"

John hesitated. He had wondered if Sherlock would figure it out, but it was still a shock being asked.

"Can we talk about that when i'm back? I don't think that's a conversation to have via telephone."

/

Seven hours, twenty five minutes on a busy train was not the funnest seven hours. The fact that it was in the early hours of the morning, and therefore there was nothing to see out of the window but dark, dark and, oh look, more dark, didn't help.

It passed relatively quickly for John though. He had pre-planned and brought a book with him, but his thoughts kept drifting away. To what it would be like to be back in London. To Baker Street. To Mrs Hudson and cups of tea. To severed heads in the fridge and a smiley face on the wall being shot. To Sherlock. He was finding it hard to read, or indeed to try and sleep.

Finally, at seven in the morning, the train pulled into King's Cross. John stretched, left the sleeper cabin he'd had for the night. Noticing as he headed down the corridor that the pain in his leg had gone again.

"Hey!"

As he stepped down from the carriage, another man bumped into him hard, nearly sending him to the platform floor. He kept his balance, but his case fell over.

"Hey, sorry mate, I didn't look where I was going."

The other man had picked his case back up for me.

"No, it's alright. This is London, after all."

The man gave a laugh, then checked his watch.

"Listen, i've got the dash, but no hard feelings, yeah?"

He clapped John on the back, then dashed off. John shook his head slightly.

"Definitely back in London" He muttered.

He stopped for a coffee and a proper breakfast, then took a taxi back to Baker Street. As he knocked on the door he thought he heard raised voices. He _knew_ there were raised voices when Mrs Hudson opened the door.

"Oh John!" Mrs Hudson gave him a hug, almost making John drop his case again. He returned it quickly.

"What's going on, who's shouting?"

"Oh, Sherlock's brother turned up about ten minutes ago and they started shouting just now. So early too..."

John's heart jumped somewhere into the region of his Adam's Apple. He came inside hastily, dropped his case in the hall and quickly moved up the stairs. It was now possible to hear what they were actually saying.

"- if I wanted your guidance Mycroft, I would ask! Funnily enough, I haven't on this matter."

"I wished to help you Sherlock, and acted based on what I knew at that moment in time. I didn't have time to ask your permission."

"Don't pull the 'concerned big brother' act on me, it doesn't work anymore."

John got to the top of the stairs and found Sherlock pacing, tense, glaring across the room. Mycroft was sat, his fingers steepled together, attempting to portray a calm aura. The slight jiggling of his foot, however, and the tone of his voice, belayed that. Both looked round as John stepped inside.

"What's... going on?" He asked cautiously.

"My dear brother has just attempted to make me tell you to leave the moment you came back. He has now admitted he was the one that pushed you into going. Correct?" He shot this question towards John, who nodded.

"Correct."

Mycroft got to his feet. That umbrella of his was still clutched in his hand.

"I acted based on both of your history with Moriarty and the fact that being around my brother seems to put you in the metaphorical firing line. I wished to help, nothing more."

"Well that worked, didn't it?" Sherlock's voice was thick with sarcasm. "Funnily enough, there are still threats coming in."

"Yes, but you were both protected! Doctor Watson was safe in Edinburgh-"

"Safe and bored out of my skull." John shot back. "I'd rather be here, fighting him head-on then stuck in what was a glorified office job for the sake of 'safety'."

Mycroft seemed able to tell he was getting nowhere. He sighed, then looked John dead in the eye.

"I'm sorry that we could not agree. You have made your choice, and it is clear my decision at the time was... misguided. If either of you needs anything, let me know."

Sherlock made a small scoffing sound at that. Mycroft nodded to both of them, then left the room.

"Your brother knows how to cause aggravation, apparently."

"Hm, in you too. He told me you lost your temper when he visited you. That this showed your 'volatile personality'."

"I'll admit I lost my temper, but i'm not about to apologize for-"

"There's no need to, I approve. Mycroft needed taking down a few pegs, you had perfect timing. Besides, he had effectively blackmailed you into doing his bidding, anger was understandable."

"Just... how much do you know?"

"Enough. I don't think it really matters anymore though. You appear to have shown him just what you think of his plans."

"I believe my words were along the lines of 'screw your plans'."

"Eloquent as always. But very appropriate."

John smiled slightly at that. It felt like he'd never left. Sherlock seemed to come to the realization that John was actually back at this moment.

"Well... yes... welcome back, John."

"Thanks. Oh, hang on, my case."

"I'll get it."

John paused at that. Had he just heard right?

"What?"

"I'll get it, you get settled. You've clearly not slept, not the easiest thing to do on a Caledonian Sleeper train. Not that I mean that as a bad thing, you look... well."

"Thanks... you too. I'll make a cup of tea, if you like?"

"Sounds fine."

Sherlock moved down the stairs and picked up the case John had left, then made his way back up. The case was light, John seemed to have brought back less then he took originally. He re-entered the flat and placed the case onto the couch. That was when he noticed the piece of paper poking just slightly out of the zip-up pocket. Some instinct told him something was off.

"John, did you put a piece of paper in here?"

"In where?"

"The zip pocket of your case."

"What? No, I... just had the key to the lock in there."

John came out and stared at the piece of paper clearly visible. He leant over the back of the chair and pulled the paper out. It was hand-written in a small, slightly messy script.

**You shouldn't have come back, Johnny Boy. See you soon. M.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Quick note for those who read Crossroads before we start: I'm planning points of the story, as these will contribute into the second half of the next chapter. So, a little longer wait before 'ze smut', sowwy. Anyway, back to THIS story. Enjoy! ^.^**

"He's getting reckless. A handwritten note can be analysed far more easily then a typed note."

Lestrade was turning the piece of paper in his fingers, attempting to find some clue from it, beyond the obvious. It was now mid-afternoon, and Lestrade had come straight over when Sherlock had called him. John had given him a succinct account of what had happened, and shown him where the note had been put.

"Wishing to sort his sincerity in the matter, perhaps. There's that old anecdote that a handwritten letter is worth more then one typed."

Sherlock's distaste was clearly etched on his face. He felt troubled, and angry. Moriarty had directly threatened John this time, and not just sent a letter, he'd actively had it planted upon John. Somehow, the idea that Moriarty knew where John had been, and had planned this, was a deeply sinister one.

"It isn't Moriarty's handwriting."

John's voice was quiet. Both Sherlock and Lestrade looked round at him in surprise.

"What makes you say that?" Lestrade asked.

"Because Moriarty wouldn't be that foolhardy." Sherlock answered. He'd had the same thought himself. "I agree with John, I think he told someone to write this note and then directed him to John. Look at the paper; it's been ripped straight out of a notepad or journal. That's not Moriarty's style, is it?"

"The man that bumped into me in the station looked like... I don't know, maybe a student? He was young enough, early 20's at most, and he was wearing casual things, the sort of clothes you'd get from a sports store." John had closed his eyes, was trying to remember the guy's face. "Dark hair, glasses... I don't know beyond that, he had his face turned away."

"Intentionally, I would say." Sherlock sounded slightly distant. Lestrade thought for a moment.

"John, when and where did this happen?"

"About... ten past seven this morning. Platform 10 at King's Cross station. I'd just got off the train when it happened."

"I'll chase up the CCTV, see if we can identify him. Maybe he can lead us to Moriarty."

Sherlock shook his head slightly.

"I doubt it. He wouldn't be that stupid, to allow someone doing his dirty work to see his face or his location."

"It's worth a try though." John murmured. "Anything is, really."

Lestrade brought his phone out of his jacket pocket and dialled a number. A few moments later, they heard him speaking to Anderson, asking him to chase the CCTV up. Sherlock took a glance in John's direction. John was sat forward, but head down, evidently preoccupied. Sherlock couldn't really blame him. He took a seat and John glanced up.

"Nothing will happen, John. Idiotic as some of these men are, they are good at their jobs."

"It's supposed to make me feel better that they're at least competent?"

"That's by my standards. By yours, i'd imagine Lestrade and his ilk are among the best."

Despite himself, John chuckled slightly, before hesitating slightly.

"I'm not even that worried. I mean... Moriarty's a crazy, dangerous bomber, so I am nervous... just not afraid, at least not for myself."

Sherlock gave him a curious look, so John continued a little awkwardly.

"I mean... people like Harry, Sarah, even Mrs Hudson. Who's to say he won't go for one of them? We've seen he doesn't have a problem with killing innocents." He realised Sherlock was watching him with an odd expression. "... what?"

"You're the one being threatened, and yet you're more worried about your family and friends?"

"Well, yeah. I know I can handle myself somewhat, and I know what could happen. Can try to avoid it. The most violence Harry's had is the odd catfight with Clara when they try to make it work again."

Sherlock was still watching him oddly.

"You're very noble, John, you know?"

John wondered whether that was a compliment or an insult from Sherlock.

{0}

Later that afternoon, Anderson called Lestrade to announce that they had a good amount of footage of the incident. Lestrade played the footage for John and Sherlock, pointed out John as he stepped down from the carriage. They saw the collision, the man clearly apologizing. He bent to pick up the case, and they were able to see his hand slip into the pocket of the case. John grimaced slightly.

"We've traced his steps. Here." Lestrade played another piece of footage. This time, it showed the man outside King's Cross station. The time in the left hand corner read 06.34. They watched as he paced for about 30 seconds, looking nervous. He suddenly fumbled in his pocket and brought something out, which he held to his ear.

"Moriarty phoned him. What, to check he was there?" John breathed.

"Perhaps. Or just to scare him to ensure he did the job." Sherlock answered quietly.

The man was on the phone for all of 20 seconds. Then he put his phone back into his jacket pocket, and walked inside. The camera footage moved with him, showing his path. He sat at a table at one of the station's coffee bars, and fumbled in a small rucksack, bringing out a notepad. He wrote quickly.

"Ahh... Moriarty wanted to ensure you were really on your way before he carried out his plan. So he had his little henchman write the note just before your arrival."

The man stayed at his table for about 20 minutes. Lestrade fast-forwarded through the twenty minutes.

"He barely moved during that time. It looks as though he was watching the clock. Not wanting to miss his deadline." Lestrade explained as he did so.

He put the footage back to normal speed at 06.57. The man got up from his table and walked quickly through the fairly crowded station. He arrived at platform 10 at 07.01, and walked to the far end. John let a little gasp out.

"I thought he was just another passenger off the train, because he ran off back towards the main station."

"That's what he wanted you to think. I'll bet he was told to do that." Sherlock was now sounding slightly tense, annoyed. John glanced at him and saw that his jaw was set.

"What?" He asked, concerned.

"He had this all planned. Moriarty, he knew when you'd arrive, what platform, all of it. Who did you tell the train details to, besides me?"

"Err... no one. I told my C.O what time I was leaving though. It'd be easy to find out where that was going, then which platform it would arrive at."

"No, he wouldn't do that. He knew. He heard us talking?"

"_What_? How?"

"Tapped Baker Street's phoneline, or the one at your barracks. Either way, he knew. We'll have tobe careful from now on."

John nodded. He glanced up at Lestrade, who had now turned off the monitor.

"Any luck finding this guy?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. You see, he did something rather foolish."

"His rucksack." Sherlock said softly. "He left his case behind at the cafe."

Lestrade found it a little annoying when Sherlock announced his information before he could. He nodded.

"Exactly, and he was too scared to come back and pick it up. But we got it, and it had his information written on a label on the shoulder strap. We'll be able to ask him plenty of questions tonight."


	7. An announcement, NOT a chapter

Alright, so... quick announcement.

Apologies for not writing another chapter recently, but a lot's happened. A person I loved dearly died suddenly last weekend and at the moment i'm still coming to terms with that. His funeral rites are over the next week, and then on top i'm attending interviews for the Masters degree I want to do.

I don't like leaving readers waiting, but... I think you'll agree this is pretty good grounds for my taking a breather.

_That last kiss, i'll cherish, until we meet again_

_And time makes it harder, I wish I could remember_

_But I keep your memory, you visit me in my sleep_

_My darling... who knew..._

_Who Knew – Pink_


End file.
